


Put Them All In The Bag

by thatdameoverthere



Category: Danny Phantom, The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bi Disaster Sasha James, Body Horror, Disabled Character, Gen, Gender-Fluid Character, Less Existential Dread than Cannon, Light descrptions of gore, Monster Jon - Freeform, Multi, Only Slightly Creepy Kids, Pre-Poly, Pre-Relationship, Prosopagnosia, Stranger Danny, Stranger Jon, light descriptions of gore, poly rights, references to abusive relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24997273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatdameoverthere/pseuds/thatdameoverthere
Summary: A collection of individual oneshots that will never make it to a bigger story.Some crossovers, some not. Mostly crossovers.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	1. I Wanna Live - Fenton/Stoker family AU

**Author's Note:**

> I will always be salty that the DP fandom didn't jump on TMA. It had that good mood.
> 
> If you want to use any of these ideas, go ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a world where Danny Fenton and Danny Stoker were cousins: suffering happens.
> 
> Vaguely season 2 for TMA, AU for DP where Ultimate Enemy has happened sometime in the past, and phantom planet doesn't exist.
> 
> Gender fluid Danny, They/Them.

Callum Hearst prided himself on being fair. He worked hard, policed his own thoughts at every turn to make absolutely sure that he gave others a chance. To state their case, to argue their point, to give their ideas, to talk about their day. He tried so hard.

Looking down at his current case file, the last conversation with his ward spinning and spinning through his head, he didn’t think he could give  _ this _ chance.

The case this time, unfortunately, was fairly simple. The family car was T-boned on their way home. It wouldn’t have been too terrible, what with the heavily modded RV being as sturdy as it was, but most cars tended to lose when pitted against an 18 wheeler. Three of the four occupants from the RV had died, two on impact, one in the hospital. That left Callum with his current case.

Danny Fenton, 15 years old, below average student from an above average family. Callum had been surprised to find a file already on the family, a few complaints placed by anonymous neighbours about the welfare of Fenton children, but anyone sent to the residence had come back with not much more than confused praise. Apparently the Fentons took great care with their lab, and good care of their children. There was something Callum could say about  _ that _ but thought better than to think ill of the dead.

The teen themself was currently a patient at a district hospital in Columbus, close to where the crash happened as the group traveled back from looking at colleges. They hadn’t gotten away scratch free, the kid would have a long way to recover, and Callum would worry if the bills hadn’t already been paid. That shouldn’t be worrying, he thought, but it was. Those words still spinning in his head, it really was.

The issue now, Callum though, was what he could possibly do about it. Technically speaking, there was nothing he could reasonably present to stop Vladamir Masters from being given custody of one Danny Fenton. Kids often fought being moved around in times like this, and the parents of this kid in particular had written in their will that Mr Masters was to become guardian of their children should anything happen to them. It wasn’t that a will couldn’t be fought of course, but again Callum needed evidence. He needed proof that this man was a threat to his current charge.

Not only that, he needed someone else to step up as guardian. Danny could be put into the system, if nothing else, but Callum felt that may be just as bad. He had to try his damn hardest to get this kid somewhere safe. Somewhere good. Somewhere that did not involve creepy old white men.

That brought him back to staring down at this case file, finally getting access to family records so he could trawl through relatives to try and find someone he can contact. First he had checked in with an aunt, but the woman passed almost none of the checks. There was a pair of grandparents, both of which were currently in aged care. Then there was the next hurdle. An Uncle was listed but the contact information, once he checked, was listed in England.

It would be a lot of work, he knew, to get custody turned over to an international relative. more work than many would say is worth it. But Callum tried  _ hard _ . He would try this too.

  
  
  


So, Callum thought as he strode out of the hospital, it hadn’t been a terrible day. He had been happy to give Danny even a little bit of hopeful news, even if his first call overseas had been a bust. They had one more number to try, and just the  _ anticipation _ of relief on Danny’s face had been enough for him to go forward with their plan.

The Kid really did look rough. Callum suspects one or two of the hospital staff were calling them things they shouldn’t, but Danny had asked him not to bother them.  _ It’s fine _ they had said, tired and small,  _ they’re getting better _ . He’s already said his piece about it all. Their arm had been bothering them, they had said, and Callum had sat and listened as the dark haired teen, said hair now shorn short from surgery, had pushed through telling him about their day. They were trying, he thinks, to not withdraw into themself. Callum let Danny borrow his phone when he visits to call their friends. They talk quietly with them, and Callum listens to the murmur of a group call while he checks emails on his tablet.

Callum didn’t want to say he was getting attached. But that kid just felt… He couldn’t really explain it. Their hospital room was always too cold, their stare just on the unnerving side of piercing, their voice sitting just a little oddly in his ears, and the space of their missing arm filled with  _ something _ when he sees them from the corner of his eye. But even with all that, Callum always wanted to come back when he left. Those things never feel bad. He may be getting just a little attached.

That left him here, awake far too early, to make another attempt at calling what may be his last option. He had already tried before, the phone just ringing out instead of going to voicemail, and now Callum was going to try and catch his last choice in the english morning.

The ringing was infuriating, and made him jitter like always, but he stayed on the line. It kept going on and on, and Callum wanted so badly to yell. But he didn’t. He didn’t yell, and the phone picked up.

“Hello? Who’s this?”

The voice was tense. The kind of voice that had seen the same number show up five times now and had chosen not to answer. Callum frowned at his hotel room wall.

“My name is Callum Hearst with the Ohio Child Welfare Services. Is this Timothy Stoker?” He kept cleanly to his script. 

“...What?”

Patiently, he repeated: “Is this Timothy Stoker?”

“Yes?” The British accent sounded tense. “Child Welfare…?

Pacing as quietly as he could in his socks, Callum started his pitch. “I’m calling on behalf of Daniel Fenton. Unfortunately they have been left in the temporary care of the state after an incident that involved the deaths of both their parents and sister. Currently Danny is in hospital waiting to be cleared before being placed with their future legal guardian as stated in their parents will.”

He politely ignored the hitched breathing and shuddery breaths and gave Mr Stoker a moment.

“... What ?” Timothy Stoke very quickly became a much smaller man in Callums mind.

“I’m going to be frank with you Mr Stoker, because there isn’t much time in the grand scheme of things, but both Danny and myself would very much prefer it if Danny didn’t end up in the care of Mr Masters.”


	2. Territory - DP/TMA worldbuilding with goths AU?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a world where the Fear Gods really are just greedy hoes, and there is a lot more to the world.
> 
> The Girls Are Fightin'
> 
> Also to trio are poly

Sam was on edge. She was never usually like this, of her two friends she was the least likely to swing to extremes so soon. But this was different. 

Her boots thudded nicely as she paced down the sidewalk, eyes locked on on the old bus depot huddled on the edge of town.

“C’mon Sam, please, can we just go home? It’s not that big a deal! He isn’t even staying in town!”

She squeezed his hand a little too tightly: “Sh! This is important! I can feel it.” 

Tucker groaned but didn’t pull his hand from hers. The silent confidence rippled through her pleasantly.

Sam had seen them that morning in town as they, she assumed, bought some late breakfast. normally she didn’t care about the people passing through town on a bus route, but this was different. The both of them had made the skin around her eyes itch, and once she’d seen them she made sure they didn’t see her or her friends. 

Danny had agreed once he’d got a look at them, ducking out of their line of sigh quickly. 

With one of her best friends being both simultaneously living and dead Sam had done everything she could to support not just him but all of them. They were a team, she had to do her part. So it took little thought to dive further into the depth of the witch community. 

As a teenage girl, and a goth, of course Sam had looked into modern magic. Not only was the aesthetic something to behold, but the rebellious pride she felt as she studied the basic ideas and practices had left her delighted for weeks. Of course with a more serious reason she had gone deeper, and with Tucker's help had found a few forums that held a few more...serious….people in the witch and wicca community. It wasn’t that the common witch did anything wrong, but most left the deeper witchcraft to certain individuals who used their focused skills to care for the lighter side of their community.

It was these smaller forums that had welcomed Sam into their folder after a brief explanation of her and her friends circumstances. People had been around for a long time, they had told her, and people had learned how to work with the many powers and entities and beings that shared our world. They also learned how to protect themselves from them. And now Sam had access and was a part of that network.

_ be so careful, _ one member had written,  _ there are some things out there just waiting for people to trip into their patronage. _

Sam had thoroughly spoken about that at length with Danny and Tuck. Her first thought was to ask Danny to be her patron. He could too, he was technically powerful enough to be a pretty good one, she thought. But Danny had made a pretty good point against it. 

“What if I'm gone somehow? locked up or whatever? You need a patron that can help us, not just spread my power around. All the eggs in one basket, right?”

So Sam did her research, and found herself a patron that would fight for her against other entities, and with her against the things that threatened her family. It was a comfort, to know her patron listened when she spoke, even if they didn’t always speak back to her.

Either way Sam had taken steps to help protect her friends. And just looking at those two had set her hackles rising. Made her talismans burn hot against her throat. Made her feel watched.

“Are you sure you’re not just jealous of his sick tattoos?” Tucker grinned with all his teeth at her, and she pushed him off the sidewalk.

Sam was not jealous at all of his...nasty eye tattoos. She was not.

She just knew that they weren’t any good. not for her, and not for her friends. especially not that stupid old lady. her stupid goth grandkid or whatever was just another hangnail in this whole thing.

So that left Sam here, dragging Tucker along with her to keep an eye on them and make sure they left without any trouble. If she got close enough to figure out if they had a patron she could bitch about, or if they were free roaming, then all the better. but she wouldn’t push it. not when they gave her such a bad taste in her mouth.

“If anyone asks we are waiting for a bus.”

Tuckers hand tightened around her own and she heard him groan beside her.

She didn’t listen, not really. She had to plan the best tactics for fist-fighting another goth.


	3. A Nameless Hand - Danny Stoker and Jon Sims are Strangers and things are mostly Alright AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a world where Elias gave something to the Stranger to get a favor from Nikola Orsinov: Danny Stoker has a pretty alright morning.
> 
> Danny lives bitch - Set Pre/during season 1  
> Stranger Danny and Jon, Kinda  
> Fuck tragedy, lets put a little hope in the world.  
> Implied Archivist!Sasha I guess?

The sun prickled across his skin with a gentle warmth. Taking a breath, he slowly let the joints in his limbs go loose. Except his fingers. He kept those curled snugly around Jons hand. He kept his eyes open, and watched the people moseying around the park they sat in. He didn’t know any of them, their faces didn’t stick in his mind, and their far away voices just background noise. Strangers to him. Him to Them.

That was how it was now.

Danny organised all his joints in such a way that he could lean down to rest against Jon. Shoulders pushed together, heads resting against one another. The soft warmth of a friendly body, soft skin, quiet breaths. All the things he’d forgotten. 

They were just waiting. Another 20 minutes or so and they could head to the butcher after the morning rush. Danny knew Shazia wouldn’t mind them coming in whenever, but he also knew that Jon always worried they would inconvenience them if they came in when they were busy. So they were waiting in the park. It was his idea.

After so long with nothing but Costume Storage and all the other skinless bodies that hung there, being outside surrounded by pointless, harmless chatter was beyond a comfort. Being here with someone he knew would look out for him made him feel safe in a way he only knew from dreams of memories.

Shutting his eyes, Danny let himself drift. He felt a soft nudging under his skin, the park goers noticing him as a peaceful stranger, making him feel solid. Full. 

This is how it was now.

They weren’t all human anymore, and that was how it was. But would never feed the gods that made them. Danny would always be the gentle Stranger. A soft compliment from a customer, an amused glance by a fellow commuter, the nameless hand that holds out your dropped keys. 

Or the tired stranger lounging on a park bench.

It was different for Jon, he knew. Jon had been going down the path of It Knows You when he was given to I Do Not Know You, and now he was something not quite either, thanks to Nikola.

He felt Jon shift beside him, head turning and arm reaching for the lanyard on Danny’s neck. 

“Danny.” Jon spoke, his voice muffled through the fabric wrapped around his lower face and neck like an oddly patterned scarf. Like a mic speaker tucked under blankets.

He straightened up, rolling his spine up by the vertebrae, but careful not to pull the lanyard, and the attached laminate card Jon held. “Time to go?”

Jon's head tilted towards him, but Danny couldn’t really see his face. He couldn't see anyones face. Danny knew it was Jon though: that asymmetric bun, the not-scarf hiding half his head, the shape of his hands holding the lanyard Danny wore for him. Jon flipped the little card over. Danny could see the neat typing:

YES

MAYBE

I DON’T KNOW

NO

“Yes.” Jon said with a nod, and let the card fall back to hanging.

It was the little things, Danny thinks, that really help. Jons voice helped Danny recognise him, and Danny’s lanyard let Jon speak.

They were surviving, and that was enough.


	4. The Becoming of Jonathan Sims - Always a Monster AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a world where The Archive has existed since the moment Jonah Magnus decided to perform his ritual: It takes a hundred years for The Archive to learn to live, the next step is for Jonathan Sims to learn to be human.
> 
> Always a monster/never a human Jon.  
> The Magnus Archives excpet The Archive is here just to watch Jonah Magnus himself be a little bitch AU.

The Archive Knew exactly when it came into being. The Archive Knew exactly why. The Archive Knew Many Things. Once upon a time It would not have told you.

Jonathan Sims was born in 1987. Although ‘Born’ wasn’t really the right word. 

Jonathan Sims was named in 1987.

The Archive had existed for over one hundred years when It was given It’s first name.

It had first begun to question itself when it had barely existed for twenty years. The Archive wandered, moving about as much as It could, watching and Watching, drinking in the fear of anyone that caught its eyes. Then one day, as it wandered, the Archive passed a church. It didn’t care about the religion, the architecture, the place itself was not what drew its Eyes. Inside the little wooden church was a collection of neatly ordered children learning their letters, led by a tight haired woman. 

Abigail Marks was a brusque woman, tight hair and straight dress. She had a lined face, serious, and sharp words. Abigail taught the children how to read with precise efficiency. Abigail taught them to read with every ounce of passion she had. Her husband had never approved of her volunteering for the job, had made arguments about wasted time, men and pastors more fitted. Abigail had not cared a wit, and had convinced the local pastor to pass the work to her with such finesse that she had gained a great deal of respect from the man of the cloth. Her lover had held her face in her hands and pressed such sweet kisses on her eyes. Abigail had cared much more about that. 

Every new word taught, every new line of scripture read, sent Abigails heart soaring. The chatter of little voices, the silence of their attention, made her bones thrum. 

Abigail had been taught to read and write by her father when she was small. He had been taught, but had never agreed with the illiterate status of his sisters. So he taught his daughter, and that simple act had put in her mind a need to teach another. And another. And another. Abigail had never seen the point in hoarding her skills or knowledge, especially when it could benefit others. So she placed herself in the position to pass it on. So she would love herself more every day because of it.

Abigail would never know the place she holds in the heart of the Archive. The Archive would not know for some time either.

When The Archive had existed for forty years it met another like itself.

On a grassy hill in Scotland, the Archive Watched something watch the sunrise. In the pre-dawn shade of a tree a limbed shadow stared at the horizon. It had no eyes, It need not see. It’s limbs were shapeless, It needed no definition. Yet still it stood, and watched and waited. The sun rose, light spilling into the spaces filled with Dark things, and there was nothing.

The limbless, eyeless shadow did not exist in light, so there was nothing.

The Archive did not move for that entire day, not a strange thing for one who watches, and watched the sun curve over the earth to set again. As the last rays of light fled that tree in the dusk, a limbless shadow stood.

The Archive watched the same thing for seven days.

On the eighth, a shadow stood beside it.

_ “I want to feel the warmth of the sun.” _

It spoke like the suggestion of words, sounds that could be words but didn’t seem quite right.

_ “What does it feel like?” _

The Archive did not answer, for it was not for answering.

_ “I want to stand at midday and see the world turn around me.” _

The shadow could already do that, but that was not really the point, The Archive Knew.

_ “What does it look like?” _

As the sky brightened to grey, the shadow stepped forward in anticipation.

And The Archive Spoke:  **“** **Would you like to see?”**

In only a blink the shadow had eyes. The Archive had many eyes and two of those many settled like a home in the shadow. Together they watched the sunrise.

The shadow would never know the place it has in the memories of The Archive.

When the Archive had existed for eighty years it stood in a library and held out a book to the young librarian. It was the first time The Archive had ever had hands to hold things, for it had never needed them. Now, however, The Archive wanted to Give. 

Domonic had been hoping to get the new print of a children's book to start really expanding on the library's children's section, The Archive Knew. The man had not been denied the funds, but he had not been able to find a single copy of the book in question. The Archive had watched this and had decided for the first time to act. It was a simple thing, really, Domonic didn’t even have any particular fear the Archive could catalogue. He was just a librarian, and it was just a book.

So when the time came that Domonic the Librarian stood before The Archive he felt fear. Then The Archive held out the book he had so desperately wanted to add to their collection and he felt awe. Domonic had no words then but thanks to give to the colourless shape and eyes of The Archive. Later he would have more. Later he would walk the stacks at the end of the day and talk to the static about all the people he saw in the library that day. He spoke about his hopes and dreams, his wants and wishes, troubles and doubts. Domonic spoke to The Archive about many things, and The Archive Listened and spoke back.

The Archive would never know the gift he gave to Domonic.

After more than a hundred years The Archive sat beside a pair. A man named Benjamin and a woman named Ankita who had known The Archive for longer than many, but not very long at all. The Archive told them about it’s day as they watched the sun set. How it had watched an old woman feed ducks for two hours just to listen to her hum a song it’d never heard. How it had stopped by the thrift store because it had been selling a mug it knew Ankita would have liked. How it had watched a busker just because it thought they deserved an audience for a little while. Benjamin smiled, his glasses tangled in his hair, and watched The Archive and his wife. 

Ankita bumped her shoulder against the static beside her. “Will you stay with us a while more?”

Ben heckled their Archive from the other side. “We don’t want to watch you go. Who will fill our days with chatter?”

“Who will we teach manners to?”

“Who will we bother for stories?”

And their Archive Spoke:  **“I’m not sure i can stay. I am not a who, I am The Archive.”**

“But do you want to?” They asked.

**“...Yes. But I don’t Know how.”**

“Well, we’ll start with you. You just need a proper name.” Ankit nodded, smiling on her knees before her Archive. The Archive smiled the smile it made for them. “Jonathan.”

**“Who is that?”**

“It’s you.” Ben laughed. “Benjamin Sims, and Ankita Sims, and Jonathan Sims, who all live in London in a flat we rent.”

Benjamin and Ankita would always keep the love they shared for their Archive, for Jonathan Sims.

Jon would Live for them.


	5. Hot Takes and other Awful Things - Poly Archives AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a world where: Jon makes up with Georgie before the start of season 1, starting a chain of events that lead to Sasha having an unwanted epiphany.
> 
> Season 1 og Archive gang pre poly relationship is good.  
> Sasha is not immune to the Disaster Bi status and gets crushes always AU  
>  not Including part 2: Sasha meets Melanie and her Boyfriends are exasperated.

Well, Sasha thought, fuck me I guess.

Smushing her hands over her face and flailing her legs a little over the back of the couch, Sasha did her best  _ not _ to think about it, and also promptly failed.

She was supposed to be the smart one! Responsible Sasha, respectable Sasha, always-thinks-things-through Sasha. Except today, apparently. This is the last time she gives into the craving for saturday night gelato from the 24/7 shop down the street. Letting go of her face to pat around for said treat, she tried for a minute to blame Tim. But she couldn’t, could she? Because Sasha already knew what Tim thought about this particular subject.

So, by process of elimination, this was all Martins Fault.

Because damn it all, he was right.

Of course, Sasha knew logically that they lived close to each other, she knew where everyone in the archives lived (no Tim it is not weird or creepy!). But for whatever reason Sasha had not at all been prepared to see Jonathan Fucking Sims, certified Grump and Rude Boy, also getting a midnight snack.

So there she had been, nudging the freezer door closed, haul in arm, when the familiar murmur of her bosses voice simmered over from the front of the store. While Sasha didn’t really mind Jon, she also didn’t really want to run into him outside of work. So, in order to not reveal her weekend Snack Crimes to her uptight boss, she made the executive and reasonable decision to wait and watch (not spying) until he had left. 

She, and Sasha absolutely had to emphasise this, had not been prepared.

As she peered around the shelf she could see Jon standing by the til, and oh no… Jon was side on to her, talking to a large woman that Sasha could only see the back of but had very nice hair, and oh boy. Jon had black eyeliner smudged around his eyes in a look Sasha was intimately familiar with from her own nights out: a ‘I’ve been trying for ten minutes to take it off and now it's everywhere and I can’t be bothered anymore’ kind of look. His normally slicked back hair was wild and wavy and held back by a soft headband that clashed terribly with his dark graphic shirt. And the skirt! long and probably swishy, Sasha could only assume it was many sizes too big for him if the knot at his waist was any clue. It all left her stunned, but what topped it off was her boss's smile. Jon was smiling. Really, actually smiling, and not a polite turn of the lips.

Like, a stupidly soft smile.

Sasha was 80% sure that Jons friend(?) had said something to bring on the look, but that didn’t stop her from nearly having a conniption right there and then. And the realisation was instant and awful.

Jon was adorable, and she hated it.

Sasha grumbled through a mouthful of melting gelato, gargling aggressively as she glared to the roof. This was all turning out just like it had in Artifact Storage. This was why she kept her relationships strictly friendly with work colleagues. Strictly dammit! She has the worst luck. First it had been Tim. Pretty, funny Tim, with his pretty shoulders and his pretty laugh, and Sasha had handled  _ that _ line a champ. Then there was Martin, with his pretty hair and oh what a personality, she had put that all neatly in a box so it wouldn’t start anything. And now Jon? How dare he?! He was supposed to be the safe one! Supposed to be too much of an ass to let the one brain cell she had in control of her heart latch onto him.

Damn Elias Bouchard for hiring all the pretty ones. 

She needed to call Tim. She was not going to be alone in this (beside Martin of course).

Rolling around to get upright Sasha gave a moment to put her treat back into her freezer before hunkering down into the corner of her couch, phone wedged between her ear and the backrest.

Tims voice was sleep muddled and this might have been a mistake. “Sash.?.”

“Tim.”

He groaned, “Sash it’s nearly two, what the hell?”

“So I just saw Jon at the 24/7 down the street.”

There was rustling, Tim must be sitting up, she thinks. “What? like, Jon-Jon? Probably goes to bed at eight and wears flannel pyjamas Jon?”

She wriggled in indignation! “Hey! I wear flannel! And yes, that Jon. Tim, this is Bad.”

“What do you mean, what did Jon say?” Tims voice was intense, appropriately so, she thinks.

“Jon didn’t say anything, he didn’t even see me. But Tim. Tim. You need to know right now that not-work-Jon is off the scale adorable.”

“Who the hell are you and what have you done with Sasha James?” he scoffs.

“It’s the truth Tim, it's so true it hurts. Martin was  _ right _ .” Tim couldn’t see her waving her arms about, but it was the thought that counts.

“Bullshit.”

“No, no, Listen! So I went to the store like an hour ago right? And just as i was about to leave-” and she told him exactly what happened. She had to share this forbidden boss knowledge. “Can you picture it Tim? I can’t get over the smudgy eyeliner.”

Tim hummed, “I can’t believe you would bring your new useless crush to your jilted lover.”

“You're not a jilted lover Timmy.” Sasha pressed her smile into the couch.

“UH!? I so am! I’m being jilted right now. Jilting me with this new crush!” Sasha just laughed at him. ”Do you have proof this is true? evidence? I need primary sources woman.” And she didn’t, why the hell hadn’t she gotten proof?

“I should have taken a photo! God, Tim, I want fun skirt Jon to be our boss, not grumpy work Jon.” a sigh of unwanted longing followed, then followed more by Tim groaning.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Sash. Although, if true, no doubt it'll push Martin right off the deep end.”

Sasha groaned, because it absolutely would. Tim too, no doubt. Not-work-Jon seems like Tims type.

But she was respectable and responsible Sasha, and she knows how to keep her many, many crushes from interfering with her work.


	6. A Nameless Hand 2 - Danny Stoker and Jon Sims are Strangers and things are not yet alright AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a world where Elias gave something to the Stranger to get a favor from Nikola Orsinov: Jon has a morning(?) That could be worse.
> 
> How many fears can I overlap AU?  
> Danny lives bitch - Set Pre season 1  
> Stranger Danny and Jon, Kinda

The Narrator sat in the middle of the empty audience, script in hand, staring at the stage. The set w2as only half finished and performers and crew members alike were scurrying around upstage and through the wings working. they were as quiet as they could be, considerate of the ongoing rehearsal.

“Just Your Lines Today, We’ll Work On Your Blocking Another Day. When You're Ready.”

Her hand was sharp and gentle against their own. helping them hold their script, and The Narrator kept very still. For while her words were achingly gentle, taunting and tantalising in their softness, The Narrator knew better. Then they nodded, and leant lightly against Nikola’s hard shoulder in thanks for her kindness.

Then The Narrator turned their eye down to their script:

**ACT 1**

**_SCENE 1_ **

_ A Plaza at midday. THE RABBLE fill the plaza with a crowd, cheering and cajoring. THE WOMAN stands center stage, looking out over the audience. She is impatient, waiting. _

_ NARRATOR: There is a woman in the plaza. Every day for the past week she had come here to wait. She does not know where she is waiting for, but she knows they are meant to meet. _

The Narrator's voice fills the room, rumbles through every body and into every space. Their voice will not be ignored, And their script will be obeyed. Even if their current script wasn’t all that good. When their eyes skim up they are only pleased to see at least one actor in their place. THE WOMAN, they know, because they spoke it. The plastic thing looks ecstatic, pulled away from its backstage work. It looks agonised as the rehearsal continued.

_ THE MAN Enters. _

_ NARRATOR: And once they met, they would be together. Always. _

_ THE MAN steps forward, offering his hand to THE WOMAN.  _

_ THE MAN: Will you dance with me? _

_ THE RABBLE twitters and murmurs. _

Another wood and straw body held together by skin and stitches stepped forward as THE MAN, and when The Narrator spoke their lines THE MAN spoke too. Tone and cadence and rhythm matched perfectly, the two voices humming beautifully in their ears. The Actors voice clean and clear, twining with the microphone buzzed hum of The Narrators.

Then the scene kept going, and The Narrator kept narrating, and they could only think: if only I didn’t need the script. If I could still speak a word not written for me. But The Narrator made no action in the thought, nothing to give away their own act. They were getting rather good at it.

Nikola laughed with delight, a nudge and “Oh Wonderful!” when they had their actors twirl obscenely into each other in their dance. They let the oily pride swell in their chest like a sweet rot and let their Words ring a little stronger, a little more delighted, as the air filled with the cracking of wood and plastic joints. (Oh to hear more of those sounds. With the tools, the time,if their hands didn't ache so awfully, they knew they could write their own script and fill their world with the lovely moans of rending plastic, the crack of splintered wood, the roar as their kindling filled bodies lit up like the theatre’s they infested.)

Rehearsal ended eventually, and The Narrator slipped into silence once more. The two that had been held in his words lay in an indistinguishable head of twisted limbs and torn skin. It would take a long time to seperate them. If they could be seperated. They were hauled away.

Nikola’s hand was still gently when she helped them stand, lead them from the theatre hall and down into the basement. Down into Costume Storage. She is speaking, her tone happy, But The Narrator's mind is hazy and tired, cotton ful after the last word of their script.

Costume Storage was humid and dark, neither warm nor cold, and The Narrator felt themself relaxing as soon as they were led inside. A few more steps and Nikola helped fold them down into a little square of space at the end of one of the racks. Their hands were placed in their lap, their ‘wings’ (as Nikola was so fond of calling them) were draped neatly around and behind them.

“Rest Now Dear, And I Will Come And Get You For Our Next Rehearsal Later.” She caressed their hair and left.

The door locked behind her with a click.

In the non-warmth of Costume Storage the Narrator breathed and Jon let himself finally relax. He kept up the sound of breathing, slumping sideways off his ankles, and allowed himself the time for his head to clear. Scripts always left him tired and dazed, but Jon would rather have a rehearsal then a session with the Designer. His hands still  ached .

Time eventually passed, how much he couldn’t say, and Jon's head felt clearer. So, with curled fingers he wrote into the moisture on the smooth concrete ground and read his own words.

“Danny.”

Silence, then a breath louder than the others from the costume rack beside him. Other sounds echoed back from around the room: a soft moan from the far right corner, a breathy hum from the next rack over, a hiss between teeth from a place Jon hasn’t been able to pinpoint. 

Costume Storage really was a nightmarish place and if Jon hadn't been through what he had, and if he still had a mouth, he would have thrown up at the first sight of it. Neatly ordered silver clothes racks, just tall enough to hang an adult human from, filled with skinless breathing bodies hung from hooks through their shoulders. The moist air kept them from drying out and the will of the Circus kept them alive.

Sometimes they had skin on them, and when they did the ones who were still sane and aware enough to speak would fill the silence with quiet chatter. It was what they always did, the others said.

Danny had no skin at the moment, although he had been wearing some when Jon left. He had seen Danny in quite a few skins, none of them ever fitting quite right, but never his original. That didn’t stop them from talking, and it didn’t stop Jon from getting attached.

It didn’t stop Jon from  _ watching _ . From planning. Until then Jon would play his part as long as he needed to. But for now he would rest in Costume Storage.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to use any of these ideas, go ahead


End file.
